Can't See The Darkness Through The Rain
by Silverflame4761
Summary: Snape convinces Hermione to fill in as a substitute professor at Hogwarts. But Hermione knows that going back means being trapped by her own yearnings for the powerful and unbending wizard who is Severus Snape.
1. Tragedy

TITLE: Can't See The Darkness Through The Rain  
  
AUTHOR: Silverflame4761  
  
PARING: SS/HG  
  
RATING: R  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
SUMMARY: When Minerva McGonagall dies, Snape becomes Headmaster of Hogwarts, leaving the position of Potions professor open. He convinces Hermione to fill in as a substitute. But Hermione knows that going back means being trapped by her own yearnings for the man who had once protected and dominated her- for the powerful and unbending wizard who is Severus Snape.  
  
NOTES: Special thanks to Patricia Wilson for her invaluable help.  
  
***  
  
"Telephone call for you, Miss Granger!"  
  
The voice came clearly to Hermione as she crossed the foyer of the Potter Building and she raised a hand in acknowledgement, hurrying on and into the elevator.  
  
"Hold it, will you? I'll take it as soon as I reach my office."  
  
"Right, Miss Granger. It's an overseas call."  
  
Hermione nodded pleasantly as the elevator doors swished closed and the silent speed lifted her to her third-floor office. Overseas. That would be the call from France. She had been almost certain that she had got the Paris contract and they had promised to ring today if the news was good. Harry Potter was going to have to eat his hat after all. She grinned to herself, looking forward to the next few minutes, cherishing the moment when she could take the elevator back down and walk into his office in a casual manner with the news.  
  
Her floor reached, she walked quickly along to her office, her long legs closing the gap between the elevator and her own office door with easy, swinging steps, her slender height perfectly balanced. The sheet of thick, brown hair cut in a flirty layered style swung too as she walked and there was nothing but pleasure on her flawlessly beautiful face. The Paris contract! The biggest thing she had pulled off yet!  
  
"All right, Sandra. I've arrived."  
  
"Yes, Miss Granger. Your call from England, Miss Granger." The telephonist slid into her professional voice as the line was connected, but Hermione froze into icy stillness.  
  
"Miss Granger?" She didn't answer. She couldn't answer. She had been expecting to hear a French voice, her mind attuned to it, and everything inside her chilled at the deep voice, the softly spoken British sound of her name. For one blinding second, the room dimmed, fading to almost nothing.  
  
"Miss Granger!" No question now, a command, his natural attitude to life. "I will assume that you are there, but if you do not intend to reply, have the courtesy to replace the receiver. I do not have all the time in the world to listen to empty miles of space!"  
  
Hermione sank into her seat, her mouth dry. Seconds before, she had been smiling, her world filled with promise, and now she was shaking, stricken, unable to breathe as the voice of Severus Snape struck out at her from half- way across the world.  
  
"I'm here." She managed it with no stammers, no hesitation, no sign of fear. "I was expecting a call from Paris; the change of direction and language stunned me for a second. I had to re-orient my mind from business."  
  
"I am well aware of your importance in the Muggle world of the Potter Press," he said coldly. "I am phoning you because it is necessary. Your call from Paris will have to wait."  
  
Her hand gripped the receiver so hard that she doubted her ability to relax her fingers. Why didn't she simply put the phone down? Why did she sit here with her heart hammering in a panic as she listened to the sound of a voice she had thought never to hear again? His arrogance came across the miles and she could imagine his face, cold, aristocratic, and unbending, not traditionally handsome but striking all the same. She could see again the dark, dark eyes that could flash with fire and narrow to glittering points of anger. She could see the tall, lean frame leaning indolently against the huge desk in his dungeons and it took every bit of her considerable spirit to get a grip on her feelings, to realize that she was no longer a student at Hogwarts, and hadn't been for years.  
  
"Then as you are paying for this expensive and so far pointless call, may I suggest that you proceed with it?" she said coolly. "My call from Paris will no doubt be received when this line is clear, therefore, to save you expense and me irritation, please come to the point of your call."  
  
There was a silence and she could imagine his raised eyebrows. He had always done that when she had answered back in class, not that she had answered back very often, but when her nerve had been up to it and she had defended herself, his attitude had always been one of aloof surprise, raised black brows, a wryly amused twist to his lips. Hatred shot through her like a searing flame and she forestalled his reply.  
  
"I am waiting! I also do not have all the time in the world to listen to empty miles of space, Professor Snape!"  
  
"My God!" he snapped in an unexpected burst of temper. "Has your lengthy stay with the American Muggles robbed you of any little courtesy you had when you were a student? I am your professor!"  
  
"You are nothing," Hermione answered flatly, her voice empty of emotion. "You are a man who is ringing me from England, criticizing me for my conduct. Your right to do that ended long ago when I graduated from Hogwarts. I am on my own, removed from the wizarding world, and you no longer have any right to call me to order. Unless you come to the substance of this call, I shall replace the receiver as you first suggested. I am expecting an important call and I am at work. I do not have time to conduct a transatlantic battle, nor do I have the interest."  
  
She stopped speaking and her eyes caught sight of her reflection in the facing mirror. Her face was white and strained, her eyes haunted, and she could hear the sound of her own heart.  
  
"Hermione." He paused and she strained her ears to ascertain if she had heard him correctly. His voice had softened, dropped to a low murmur as she remembered it could do. "Hermione- you must come home."  
  
"I am home! I live here, work here. Everything that I."  
  
"Miss Granger!" The sharp command cut into her heated reply, leaving her no further chance to talk. "There has been an accident. One of Hagrid's monsters escaped and attacked Minerva McGonagall. For the love of God, do not say anything more! Do not continue with your fight now from so far away, saying words that you will later regret." He paused and she was so stunned that she could not think of any words at all. The news would just not sink in. "Come home, Hermione. Now!"  
  
"Minerva! Where is she? How is she? Professor!"  
  
The poignant cry was completely out of the past. The office and her importance, the security of her life in Muggle America, faded away, and she was back in the land where she had spent her adolescent years. She was calling his name with the same despairing urgency.  
  
"She is dead. There is no other way to tell you except this way. One sharp blow is better than an endless sawing away at the heart."  
  
There was just the tiniest hint of compassion in the deep, proud voice, but Hermione barely heard it. She could see the stern but kind face of Professor McGonagall, her once-teacher, one of her closest friends, and her magical mentor. The realization that she would never see her in the flesh again hit Hermione like a hammer blow.  
  
"You are all right?" Snape's voice pulled her back in time and she took a deep steadying breath, closing her eyes for a minute but failing to block out the memories.  
  
"Yes, I'm all right. I'll come at once. When is the funeral?"  
  
"The funeral was this morning."  
  
She gasped aloud at the even statement, color from shock and disbelief flooding her face.  
  
"You- you dare to tell me that you held a funeral for Minerva- my mentor- and I was not informed?"  
  
"In the first place," he interrupted angrily, "I had no address; finding you has not been easy. In the second place, I would not have told you even if I had been able to discover your whereabouts in time. I did not want you at the funeral!"  
  
Cold grief flooded her. Even now, when this tragedy had struck both their lives, he did not want her there.  
  
"Then there is no point in my coming now," she said unevenly.  
  
"I thought that you would perhaps want to see the place where she is buried," he informed her quietly. "But even that is not the point of my call. The dead are dead, and it is the living that should concern us both. Minerva has been Headmistress since Albus died, or had you forgotten?"  
  
She hadn't. How could she ever forget brave, wise Professor Dumbledore, who had died in the final fight against Voldemort? For the first time, tears flooded her eyes and she was unable to reply. Of course, Snape took her silence to be guilt and continued accordingly.  
  
"Now that you have been reminded," he rasped, "let me also remind you that I am the Deputy Headmaster. As such, I will take over the running of the school, but that will leave the students without a Potions professor. It will take a long time to find a replacement and until then, we need a temporary substitute. You are the best candidate for that; you are the only one we know of who has a thorough grasp of Potions. It is your duty to return to Hogwarts. It is your duty to come home. I am aware that you dislike me for being what I am, but our mutual differences must be put aside. The students need you. The school needs you."  
  
"I'll come." She almost whispered the words, but apparently he heard her, because she also heard him a s his breath left him in an audible sigh. No wonder he wanted her there; he would never trust anyone with his Potions lab unless he knew they were completely capable. She was too stunned by the news and by her words with Snape to have the energy to say more than, "I'll get my affairs in order and be out on the first available flight."  
  
"There is a Portkey already waiting for you at the American Ministry of Magic office. It has no specific date or time. Make your arrangements with them and then owl me. Remember, though, that your duty lies here and not with some glossy Muggle magazine chain. The students are waiting for you. I will be waiting, too, Hermione."  
  
It sounded like a threat, but she was quite used to that, and to the finality of his voice as he replaced the receiver at his end. It was only later that it dawned on her that he had called her "Hermione", and she knew that it was either a slip of the tongue or a sop to induce her to hurry. Severus Snape was not given to calling his old students by their first names, especially those who had been in Gryffindor House. He was cold all the way through, as cold as the snow on the Andes, as imposing and intimidating as the castle where he had spent most of his life. It was only her years away from him that gave Hermione the courage to face him again, that and the knowledge that the students needed her and were going without proper Potions lessons.  
  
And Hermione had always hated lack of proper education in schools.  
  
*** A/N: Did you like it? I would appreciate any and all feedback, whether negative or positive. Please let me know how you felt about this fic and I will continue accordingly. 


	2. Bronze Statue

DISCLAIMER in Chapter 1.  
  
NOTES: Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I appreciate every single one. And once again, thanks to Patricia Wilson, who is a goddess!  
  
***  
  
The call from Paris came almost as soon as Snape had hung up- Hermione had gotten the contract, although how she answered the questions, made the arrangements, she was not later able to remember. Her face was still deathly pale, her hands shaking, when she took the elevator down to Harry Potter's office.  
  
He was on the phone, barely glancing at her as she came in. A lean but short man, kind and generous of heart, Harry was still every bit the wonderful person and friend Hermione remembered from their youth. The only difference was that now he had removed himself from the wizarding world, disgusted with their actions in the final war against Voldemortia. So different from Severus Snape, who had become even more involved in the affairs of the wizarding world as the years of war dragged on.  
  
Harry had taken over a large and thriving chain of magazines right after leaving. He had to do something with all of his money, after all. Under Harry, the rechristined Potter Press had expanded and become very powerful. As head of advertising for the whole chain, Hermione knew his worth both as a man and as head of the firm.  
  
Many times he had asked her to marry him, but her constant refusals had marred neither their happy working relationship nor their deep friendship.  
  
"All right, you didn't get the advertising contract with Paris, so I don't have to get a straw hat to eat," he remarked in amusement as he turned from the phone. "I know you've not got it or you'd have been bouncing about with impatience while I was phoning instead of standing there quietly like."  
  
His voice faded away as he saw her face and he was beside her quickly.  
  
"Hermione! What's wrong?"  
  
"I got the contract," she assured him in a small faraway voice, "the details are here, but somebody else will have to do it. I've got to have leave." She raised stricken eyes to his and then burst out, "Oh, Harry! Minerva McGonagall was killed! She's dead! And Snape said.Snape said." She burst into tears and he folded her against the hard warmth of his chest.  
  
"Hush! Hush!" he said quietly. "You'll have all the leave you need. And exactly what did that git of a professor say?" he added on a rising note of anger.  
  
Hermione told him later, over an early drink in a nearby cocktail bar, and his face darkened with anger. Harry had never made peace with Snape, and he still hated him far too much to feel any sympathy for the irritable man.  
  
"Why the hell can't they find someone else?" he grated. "There's got to be someone else!"  
  
"Who?" she asked simply. "Who else can they find on such short notice who has as thorough a knowledge of Potions as I do? Anyway," she added almost absently, "Snape would never let anyone use his precious laboratory unless he knew that they knew what they were doing. The position is sacred to him, and I'm the only one he'll trust with it."  
  
"That man and his bloody potions lab!" Harry rasped. "Snape likes his lab more than he likes people! Man's like a glass bottle!"  
  
No, she thought tiredly, looking at Harry but seeing a different face, a proud, angular face with eyes like jet in the candlelight, a perfect physique that was power, grace, and endurance. A body that could rise at dawn and swelter over a blazing cauldron until nightfall with no sign of weariness. Not a glass bottle, a bronze statue, amazing to behold but cold, cold and cruelly hard.  
  
She didn't speak her thoughts, though; instead, she said quietly, "He believes in duty."  
  
"As far as I know," Harry said in disgust, "he hasn't a kindly thought in his head. Of course, you'll have to go, darling, but watch your step. There's no need to take any insults or lordly behavior from Snape. You don't rely on him at all. You're a success in your own right and I'm always here, you know that, Hermione."  
  
She knew that. She smiled up at him tremulously as his hand covered hers, nodding her agreement, too full of emotion at the moment to say more. Over the years, he had pieced together some of her relationship with Snape, but there was much that she had never spoken of, would never speak of- even to her best friend. Harry Potter thought Snape cruel, but he didn't know him as a person. Hermione often thought that she was the only one who knew him that way, who knew the different expressions that crossed that remote, arresting face. Only she knew that the stern and unbending face of British aristocracy could suddenly melt into surprisingly ready laughter. Only she knew that the gulf between them was too painful and too deep for any bridge ever to cross.  
  
Hermione was a success. From a painfully insecure, know-it-all child, she had grown into a woman with a ready charm that was attractive and persuasive. She had learned the hard way to hide her feelings and talk easily. Hermione could charm birds from trees, according to Harry, and she had charmed plenty of advertising business their way. Already bilingual in English and French, she had learned Spanish and German as well and had used her language skills to draw business from the Continent, and she had climbed fast in the firm.  
  
It was ironic that at the peak of her success, when she had everything she wanted, Snape should have the power to call her back. No doubt he was no more looking forward to this than she was, but he had ordered her "home" and she had no alternative but to obey. Once, Hermione had not wanted a career or success, she had only wanted Snape. Harry did not know that, only she knew- and Snape, although he would probably not even remember. Six years was a long time ago, a lifetime ago, it seemed. She had pushed the thought of him away with all the other hurts that she had suffered, and she had thought him too distant to hurt her ever again.  
  
She had been wrong.  
  
*** A/N: Once again, thanks to my reviewers. I'm sorry for the short length of this chapter, and I will get the next one up ASAP. 


	3. Meeting Again

DISCLAIMER in Chapter One.  
  
NOTES: A big thank-you to my very gracious reviewers, and of course to Patricia Wilson. I love you guys!  
  
***  
  
Hogsmeade! It was still as hectic and full of activity as it had been more than six years ago, maybe even more so. As the train pulled into the Hogsmeade Station, Hermione looked through the windows and saw a sight she had never expected to see again- the comings-and-goings of innumerable wizards and witches.  
  
Men and women in colorful robes and long, pointed hats bustled to-and-fro, chattering and laughing companionably. The station echoed with the screeching of owls and the howling of cats. Vendors ran around hawking their wares, and trains were constantly pulling in and out of the several platforms.  
  
Hermione had watched this scene so often in her life. She had watched it with the same mixture of feelings that flooded through her now. A feeling of relief to see the bustling activity of Hogsmeade and the large castle of Hogwarts, but a tight anxiety within her at what she would face in Professor Snape's class for another year.  
  
She looked around at large, spacious compartment that she had all to herself. How many times had the Hogwarts Express conducted her across England? How many times had she met the train at Platforms 9 and ¾ and been transported, cheerful and merry, to the school that she loved while she was a student, and then again while she was an adult during the war? How many times during the Great War had Severus Snape waited by the Hogwarts Express Platform to take her to the tense and stressful atmosphere of Hogwarts to work on obscure potions with him?  
  
She could not even begin to count the times. It seemed that the whole of her past life had been here, that she had waited always as she waited now for a sight of the tall, dark figure who would be leaning against the wall and who would stare at her coolly as he had always done, assessing, probing, watchful, before taking her trunk and coldly kissing her cheek.  
  
Hermione could see herself as she had been then, slim and uncomfortable, almost too thin, her hair almost invariably wild and bushy, her brown eyes wide and anxious, waiting with almost tearful anxiety for any sign that her appearance displeased Snape, because she had learned very early on that the cold, detached face of her professor-turned-partner meant either despair or a kind of happiness. Snape was the only one at the great castle whose behavior had any kind of affect or influence on her.  
  
She was neither thin nor unkempt now, however; she was grown up, no longer an anxious child. Only the wide brown eyes were the same. Her slender height was not ungainly now, her figure was a woman's figure, smooth-hipped and high-breasted, and her chocolate hair was smooth and groomed, her make- up as perfect as she could make it. She would not now be meeting Snape in anxiety, watching for any sign of his approval. In any case, she knew know that there would be none- she had known that for a long time. As a child, she had been vaguely bearable, but as a person she was unacceptable.  
  
"At last you are back home at Hogwarts, Miss Hermione."  
  
The voice cut into her thoughts and she turned to the house-elf in the doorway, Winky's daughter, and met her smile with one of her own.  
  
"For a very little while, Ashie," she said softly.  
  
"I'm sorry about.We are all sorry that you are here because of your great tragedy." She began hesitantly, but Hermione waved her sympathy away gently.  
  
"Thank you, but I'll recover from it." She forced a smile and moved her hand to take in the business of Hogsmeade. "It is still the same, chaos and disorder."  
  
"Yes, it remains the same; it can do little else." Ashie's eyes were suddenly dancing. "You are changed, though, Miss Hermione. You are- grown up- different." Her wide, laughing eyes skimmed over Hermione and she gave her an answering grin.  
  
"Yes, Ashie. I am grown up and different. And I also have a very sharp tongue and a nasty turn of phrase."  
  
"I'll try to remember, miss," Ashie assured her, bursting into pleased and mischievous laughter. "I hope that Professor Snape remembers, too. I have often heard his criticisms of you in the past. You will now tell him where to go?"  
  
"Yes," Hermione answered flatly. She would. She was not going to be at the mercy of Snape's tongue every again. At the first sign of any criticism, any temper, any orders, she would.  
  
Her thoughts died away in her mind just as her words would have died away on her tongue had she been speaking, because he was there. The train had slowed down and was now pulling into the platform. Snape was there just has he had always been, just as if this were so many years ago.  
  
She could see him clearly, tall and lithe, leaning against the car, heavy dark robes cloaking his magnificent body, his dark eyes narrowed as he watched the train pull in.  
  
God! He was still the same! Her heartbeat changed like an instrument that moves to the rhythm of a remembered song, her skin tightened on her face, and tiny pinpricks of alarm raced down the backs of her arms and hands. She was grateful for this advance warning, grateful for the chance to grasp her racing feelings and pull herself together. He was not able to see her. The windows on the train were tinted darkly.  
  
Hermione took deep, steadying breaths and won her small battle. As the train stopped, she was in control of herself, the knowledge that there must be no weakness when she met Severus Snape bolstering up her courage and stiffening her resolve.  
  
Ashie turned to Hermione with a grin. "We are here, miss. Welcome back to Hogwarts."  
  
"Thank you, Ashie. Thank you too for a very pleasant ride. Before too long you will be taking me back to London, a few weeks at the most, I expect." Ashie nodded but didn't seem too impressed with Hermione's plans.  
  
"I am at your service, Miss Hermione. Whenever you wish, or whenever Professor Snape wishes," she added softly, her wide eyes twinkling. She grinned widely as Hermione opened her mouth to make a sharp comment and shook her head.  
  
"We'd better get out before the temper surfaces, I think."  
  
Ashie led Hermione down the corridor to the doors and opened them for her. She began to move down the steps, not waiting for any assistance, but she was a little too late. As she stepped down, strong hands came to her waist and she was lifted the rest of the way. Hermione found herself turning pale- faced to meet the dark, watchful eyes of her former professor.  
  
"Welcome home," the deep voice said wryly. "I was beginning to think that you had decided to stay in the train and return to London."  
  
"Hardly," she said coldly. "I do know my duty, after all."  
  
"Yes," he countered, "when you have been reminded of it. Now that you have renewed your acquaintance with Ashie, perhaps we could go?"  
  
Her brown eyes met the wide eyes of Ashie as the elf came back from bringing out Hermione's luggage, and she saw the rueful, "I told you so" written across her face. Hermione had been met with criticism as usual, but the sharp tongue and nasty turn of phrase that she had boasted of seemed at this moment to have deserted her. For the time being, she could think of nothing to say to Snape, who continued to hold her lightly but firmly by the waist.  
  
"A good idea," she said flatly. "The sooner I start teaching the better and the sooner you find a permanent teacher the better too. I'm too busy to linger for long in this place."  
  
She pulled away and began walking up the path that led to Hogwarts, suddenly annoyed that he had not brought one of the horseless carriages with him.  
  
"Why didn't you bring a carriage?" she said crossly. "Now we have to walk all the way up to the castle."  
  
Evidently, the human side of Snape was uppermost today, because he grinned as he grabbed her trunk and caught up to her easily.  
  
"You are too delicate to walk for a few minutes?"  
  
"I'm tired from my trip. And I hate walking."  
  
"I think you can handle it," he assured her quietly. "We all must do some things that we hate sometimes. And anyway, there are no carriages. I lent them to the Ministry of Magic for Merlin knows what."  
  
"The path is filthy!" Hermione said irately, drawing the skirts of her green robes around her.  
  
"I remember when you were only too happy to see it," he said softly. "I remember when you ran down the path and let the wind blow your hair into a greater state of wildness. You never complained then."  
  
"I was too young to recognize discomfort," she reminded him tartly, "and I am no longer wild."  
  
"That I can see, little girl," he commented wryly, his eyes leaving the path and skimming over her face and figure. "Your hair is controlled at last."  
  
"I am also controlled!" she said sharply. "And I'm not a little girl, either," she added in a tight voice, her face flushing at his small but well-remembered endearment.  
  
"I can see that, too," he told her softly, lapsing into silence as he normally did when he had said everything that he intended. He was not a man to hold pointless conversations, and she could tell after a quick glance at his face that he was slipping back into his usual aloof manner, the burst of humor over.  
  
Hermione clenched her teeth and kept silent too. Not one word had he said about Minerva, not one word of explanation about his outrageous conduct in barring her from the funeral. She was here because he needed her help, because he was having trouble finding a Potions professor. No doubt he would never recover from the astonishment that the realization of that had brought. No doubt he would not even have bothered to inform her of the accident and Minerva's death if he had been able to find a new teacher as coolly and quickly as he coped with everything else. The bottled-up anger grew and exploded into words when they had gone only a very little way.  
  
"I hate you, Snape! Do you know that? I hate you!"  
  
"I know it." He never even looked at her, keeping his eyes on the path ahead, his hands gripping the handle of her heavy trunk.  
  
"You suffer from no remorse, do you?" she stormed on. "You have not one bit of regret in you that you failed to get me here for the funeral."  
  
"No." Short and to the point, his answer drove her further.  
  
"You didn't want me her because I renounced the wizarding world, because I live as a Muggle. No doubt I would have been an embarrassment at such a gathering at a funeral where everyone would have whispered about how I don't appreciate being a witch!"  
  
"MERLIN!" He halted suddenly, causing her to walk into him, and he had his hands tightly and cruelly on her arms before she could recover. "No," he rasped brutally. "I did not want you there! I did not want you to be brought to Hogwarts in time to see the remains of Minerva, a thousand pieces strewn across the savanna! I did not want you to be on hand for the necessary identification! Have you any idea what it is like when a graphorn attacks? Have you, Miss Granger?" He shook her, his lips tight and angry, and the picture he painted with such cruel words swam into her mind.  
  
"Oh, God!" Hermione was suddenly sick inside, nausea washing over her as she fell to her knees to kneel in the dusty path, her head in her hands, glad to feel the hot wind blowing at her face and hair.  
  
The nausea passed, and she let the deep sobs of shock and grief that welled up inside come to the surface. Turning away to face the green landscape and hide her face from Snape's, she sobbed quietly, racked with pain and unhappiness. She hadn't seen Minerva since the end of the Great War, and her only comfort was that they had still kept in touch via the Muggle postal system. Now even that was gone, and Hermione would never see her mentor again, and the ghost of the cruel past would roam through the school with very little to remember that was good.  
  
"Stop! Hush! Hush!" Snape was beside her silently and swiftly, pulling her up and into his arms. "You'll make yourself ill and it will do no good."  
  
"I- I'm sorry." She struggled weakly, but he held her fast, his hand smoothing her hair in an oddly comforting gesture that threw her far back into the past. "I should have realized that.Did the students go to the funeral?"  
  
"Of course not," he assured her quietly. "They are children. I wouldn't let them suffer anything like that. For the time, I forgot that you are no longer a child. I tried to protect you from the- misery of it all." He sighed and released her. "I did not do the right thing, but I suppose I saw you still as a girl. You're a woman and well able to face things. I suppose I had forgotten. It's been such a long time since."  
  
He turned away and looked out across the lush, green hills, his dark eyes shuttered and cool.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione whispered. "I shouldn't have said all that. Sometimes my tongue runs away with me, and- and I suppose that I'm a little bitter."  
  
He turned to look down on her, much taller than she, although she was not in any way small. For a few seconds, their eyes held and communicated without words, and Hermione's face lost its pale grief and flooded with color.  
  
"Bitter? Yes, I suppose so," he said in an odd voice. "However, you are here, and there are the students."  
  
"Yes." She bowed her head, ashamed of her outburst, ashamed that she had once again shown her inability to keep calm and indifferent to circumstances. Once again, she had thought of her own grief and only belatedly of the students. Snape had thought of both.  
  
She was startled to feel his hands on her arms again, and she looked up into dark, unreadable eyes. For a second, he stared down into her face and then bent his head, kissing her lightly on the lips.  
  
"Don't let your conscience trouble you so much, Miss Granger," he said softly. "You usually have more common sense than feelings."  
  
He turned back to the path and she followed, suddenly very weary and defeated. She was not like him. Snape dealt with all problems coolly and systematically. Hermione couldn't do that, couldn't keep all of her emotions hidden.  
  
"Once more you are windswept, little girl," he said softly, and she lifted startled eyes to see him waiting with the car door open, an amused quirk to his lips as she hastily tried to straighten the unruliness of her coffee- colored hair.  
  
*** A/N: This chapter is the longest one yet, because I felt bad about how short the last one was. I hope you enjoyed it, and please review! 


	4. Memories

DISCLAIMER in Chapter One.  
  
NOTES: Sorry this chapter is coming so late, I've been on holiday for the past week. I hope you like it, and another chapter to follow quickly!  
  
Also, a lot of you have been asking me to go more in-depth with the past relationship between Hermione and Snape. That will be revealed in the coming chapters, piece by piece. All I can say right now is that nothing went on between them when she was a student.  
  
***  
  
Hogwarts Castle was built on high ground, perched atop a mountain. Vast and imposing, it had stood for centuries secure and cool- an oasis in a landscape of rolling hills and thick forests, a fortress surrounded by greenery.  
  
The rough stonework of the massive castle was mellow in the afternoon sunlight, the green, well-watered lawns stretching out to the lake and the Forbidden Forest. It had withstood upheaval and conflict and the ravages of time and weather with the same fortitude that had been in the blood of the four founders of Hogwarts, who had set up a dynasty which was to continue unbroken.  
  
From far away, Hermione saw it. She remembered her first frightened and awestruck glimpse of the place when she had seen it as a child, an intelligent yet unhappy eleven-year-old. This was where she had grown up, had learned everything she knew about magic. She had been a prefect and Head Girl here; she had earned countless O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S. It was in this place that she had met her two best friends. The memories of those times were wonderful, although there had been some rough spots- like all the many times Harry had nearly died. Hermione shuddered just thinking about it.  
  
And then the Great War had started. It had been terrible, simply terrible. Following the example of Cornelius Fudge, almost the entire wizarding world had turned a blind eye to the rising problems, until it had been almost too late.  
  
If it hadn't been for Albus Dumbledore, it WOULD have been too late. He and his faithful followers had worked nonstop to stem the tide of mass killings perpetrated by Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  
  
Most people had thought Dumbledore mad, and Hogwarts had almost been shut down by the Ministry of Magic. In the end, however, it had been Dumbledore and the rest of Hogwarts who had saved the wizarding world and gotten rid of Voldemort for good.  
  
After graduating, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all joined the growing forces on the side of the Light. Harry had been in the actual physical fighting, Ron had been involved in strategic planning, and Hermione had become an assistant to Severus Snape. Her help had been invaluable in the exhausting mass production of the potions required in war, both offensive and defensive.  
  
Snape had not been happy, to put it lightly. He had always viewed Hermione as an insufferable know-it-all who was too smart for her own good, and his perception of her had not changed after graduation, as she had thought it might.  
  
His attitude had not mellowed in the time they worked together, either. Even her extensive and in-depth knowledge of War Potions had done nothing to appease him.  
  
The first day of their so-called partnership, Hermione had shown up in the dungeons early. It was then she had her first brush with Snape as a full- fledged adult.  
  
His harsh, glowering face had frightened her badly, but worse had been his towering over her, anger and dislike radiating almost visible from him.  
  
"What do you imagine you are doing here?" His deep voice was harsh, violent, and she had stared at him, mesmerized.  
  
"Answer me! What are you doing here?"  
  
"I-I'm helping you make potions."  
  
"Helping me!"  
  
To add to her terror, he had grasped her long brown hair in one hand, jerking her head upwards as he glared down at her from his intimidating height.  
  
"This is not a game, you stupid child! This is a war! If I see any indication that you aren't taking this seriously, I will have you thrown out of here in three seconds flat- that is, if Voldemort hasn't captured you first!"  
  
"Vol-Voldemort?" She stood uncomfortable in his grasp, her slender neck at an unnatural angle as his hard grip on her hair made movement impossible without further pain.  
  
"Yes, Voldemort!" He bent his head and glared at her closely. "The Dark Lord!" he hissed. "A power-hungry wizard who would not think twice about kidnapping an extremely intelligent girl and using her to his own ends!"  
  
"I can't help my intelligence!" she had cried, tears beginning to prick her eyes from panic and pain. "It's just how I am!"  
  
"You don't have to show off so much," he had countered with dark, narrowed eyes, but a little burst of indignation prompted her to defy him.  
  
"I don't show off and you know it! I AM proud of my mind, but I don't go around shoving it in people's faces! You're just jealous because I'm smarter than you!"  
  
For the first time, she had seen the black brows raised in aloof astonishment, the wryly twisted lips.  
  
"Is that what you think, smart girl?"  
  
"Yes! And I hate you because you're hurting my head!"  
  
He had released her at once and stepped easily behind his desk, looking down at her as she had taken her courage in both hands and raised her eyes to him.  
  
"So! I am jealous of you and you hate me? You won't mind, therefore, leaving Hogwarts to await the coming of Voldemort. Better to be an evil wizard's tool than to work with a jealous savage that you hate, eh?"  
  
"Oh!" Her long drawn-out gasp and her clenched hands had emphasized the terror in her huge brown eyes and she had seen, also for the first time, the cold face dissolve into laughter.  
  
With one lithe movement he had come around the desk and pushed her behind her own desk, his strong hands gripping her tiny shoulders, and she dropped into the chair with an exclamation of surprise.  
  
"Perhaps I will not leave you to Voldemort after all," he mocked, laughter in his voice. "You will stay here with me and help me. In all honesty, do you truly think I am jealous of you?"  
  
"No, I don't really think that. I just get upset when people accuse me of boasting." She trailed her hand across the desk, suddenly warm and secure, watching him move back behind his own desk and sit down.  
  
"Do you dislike me, Professor?" she asked in a very small voice.  
  
"But of course I do! You are, after all, smarter than me, as you so rightly pointed out."  
  
There was laughter in his voice and Hermione just knew that he didn't mean it.  
  
For a while she was content to work quietly, glancing up every now and then at Snape. "Would Voldemort really come after me?" she asked after a while, hopeful that he would not, but all the teasing left Snape's voice as he looked up at her.  
  
"Of course he would," he said seriously. "You are one of the smartest witches alive today, and you're very well known because of your friendship with Harry Potter. Voldemort is always looking for new talent to turn over to the Dark Side. It's almost an obsession with him. And he can be very persuasive when he wants to, especially to those vacillating between sides. If he thought that you had any lack of enthusiasm for the War, he would come after you immediately and try to win you over. And even if you didn't agree, he would take you anyway. That's just how Voldemort is. And that's why it's so important for you to be public in your support of the Light, and to stay safely within the walls of Hogwarts. You can't take any chances."  
  
Hermione shivered and Snape returned to work.  
  
"I- I'll be careful," she whispered, and he heard her, because he asked, "Is that a promise?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good. Then I can stop worrying."  
  
"Would you care if Voldemort took me, Professor?" she asked tentatively, wanting somebody to care, and he looked across at her with dark arrogant eyes.  
  
"It would have been better if you had not been brought here," he said evenly, "but as you are here, then yes, I would care, even though you are intelligent and hate me."  
  
She smiled at him with pleasure, her eyes glowing, and for a second he looked straight into the silvery depths, unsmiling, before looking back to his work. He said nothing more, and when at dinner she greeted him with a little smile of friendship, he had coldly ignored her.  
  
*  
  
"Dreaming?" His voice dragged her back into the present, and she looked at him with the cool eyes he had so often turned on her.  
  
"Remembering would perhaps be a better word," she said with no inflection in her voice. "Re-living memories."  
  
"And all of them bad?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Yes! Except for Harry and Minerva, yes!" She closed her mouth firmly and he did not speak again.  
  
*** A/N: Well, this chapter was a bitch to get through, and I'm still not completely happy with it. Let me know what you think! 


	5. Trial By Terror

DISCLAIMER in Chapter One.  
  
NOTES: Hope this was out quick enough for all of you. I'm trying to churn out as many chapters as possible before I go on holiday again at the end of this week.  
  
Patricia Wilson's help was indispensable in this chapter. All hail the Queen!  
  
Saavik: I'm glad somebody noticed that I left Ron out. To answer your question, something happened during the war concerning Ron that was the main reason Harry and Hermione wanted to leave the wizarding world. I can't tell you what it was right now, but rest assured that you'll find out soon!  
  
***  
  
There was a carriage parked on the lawn of Hogwarts in a place usually reserved for visitors, and some inner instinct made Hermione stiffen.  
  
"You have a free carriage?" she asked tartly. "I thought you lent them all to the Ministry."  
  
"I did." His voice was as taut as hers, and it did nothing to ease her mind. "The carriage belongs to Draco Malfoy. He's been covering the Potions lessons."  
  
"So why am I here, when you obviously have all the help you need?" She swung round and glared at him, two brown eyes meeting two black ones, an equal amount of anger in both pairs.  
  
"I've told you," he said sharply, "I wanted you here. You are the best one for the job, and you'll be a good teacher. You have endless patience. And you love children."  
  
"As I recall, there is little love OR patience in Malfoy," she snorted angrily. "No doubt he's been terrorizing the students into a blind panic."  
  
"All the teachers had full schedules, what would you have had me do?" he demanded angrily. "Draco offered to help, and I was very grateful!"  
  
Hermione had heard enough and stormed away. Yes, Draco Malfoy would have offered to help. His father had died in the War as an open supporter of Voldemort, and ever since then, Draco had tried to prove beyond all doubt that he was in full support of the Light. It made Hermione sick, the way he constantly sucked up to the Ministry. Plus, he insinuated himself into Hogwarts on every conceivable occasion, and this one was an opportunity too good to be missed. The students were the last of his worries.  
  
Her burst of rage was stifled as the great doors opened and all the students eating dinner looked up in interest. She followed Snape up to the teachers' table and took a seat on his right. Snape remained standing and tapped a glass with a spoon for attention. An instant hush fell through the Great Hall. Snape cleared his throat.  
  
"I am pleased to welcome a new addition to our staff," he said. "Please welcome Professor Hermione Granger, who will be our new Potions teacher until we can get a more permanent one."  
  
The Hall exploded with noise. Hermione was very well known in the wizarding world, and these students had obviously heard of her. Snape sat down with a sigh of relief. Hermione felt a tap on her arm and turned to her right to face Draco Malfoy.  
  
"You are here at last, Hermione," he said tightly. "Welcome to Hogwarts."  
  
"Thank you, Draco, but I need no other welcome than the one I have just received. I am home!" She stressed the word, a word should would never have used in any other circumstance at this place. "I am here to teach the students, and I intend to begin right away!"  
  
"I just hope you're up to the job," sighed Draco. "It's a challenge, getting these rambunctious students to settle down and learn."  
  
"Oh, I only hope that I don't disappoint them, coming after you!" Hermione was deliberately over-friendly in her speech, flattering and pleasant, and it did not please Draco. Perhaps it did not please Snape, either, because he stood to leave the table.  
  
"I'll speak to you later, Miss Granger," he said with an angry quiet as he left, and she nodded distantly. He certainly would, but not before SHE had spoken to HIM.  
  
"Excuse me, Draco." She left the table and walked the well-remembered path to the cool and silent dungeons, where she saw her trunk there on the stone floor, seeing also that Snape had walked into his office. He glanced at her but continued, leaving the door open in silent invitation- although she needed none.  
  
"How could you let that idiot teach here?" she demanded to know, shutting the door firmly behind her as she entered. "Isn't their grief at losing Minerva enough, without subjecting them to the terror campaign of that buffoon?"  
  
"He was the only one available on immediate notice!" Snape said tightly, turning away.  
  
"And you!" she exclaimed scathingly. "I remember you telling me that you would never let another person use your lab unless you were absolutely sure they knew what they were doing!" She leaned against the door, folding her arms and watching him coldly.  
  
"I never thought a situation like this would arise. And neither did you." She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut in sharply before she had a chance. "For your information, Draco is a completely competent Potions Master. It's just his lack of people skills that make him a terrible teacher. But he does know what he is doing."  
  
"You're a fine one to talk about people skills!" she tossed back at him. "In any case, Draco's abilities are inconsequential. Now that I'm here, Draco can go."  
  
"You expect me to simply pack him off?" Snape looked at her with no interest, almost bored. "He would be offended beyond words."  
  
"Then offend him!" she advised sharply. "You ordered me here, and now that I have seen the students at the mercy of Draco Malfoy, wild horses couldn't drag me away. I intend to teach the students, and I'll suffer no interference!"  
  
"Restore the school to normality, and I promise you that there will be no interference. But remember that I am Headmaster of this school. I won't countenance any trouble!" He stood facing her, arms crossed over his black robes, the black eyes glittering with impatience.  
  
"Normality is an unusual commodity in this place," Hermione scoffed, returning his stare with an arrogance of her own. "And what makes you think there will be any trouble?" she added with a smile. She was mocking his power, defying him, and his gaze became more intent.  
  
"I only have to look at you," he assured her in a low voice. "You don't need to do anything at all. You were born to be trouble, with your wit and intelligence. I recognized trouble from the moment that you stepped into Hogwarts, when you were only eleven years old."  
  
"And you were very thankful when I left," she said woodenly.  
  
He inclined his head in agreement, his smile without humor.  
  
"Well, don't worry," she said with a forced lightness. "A few weeks and I'll be going back to my own life, and I'll be out of your way." That last phrase came out almost against her will, seeming to fall from her tongue unbidden. She would have given anything to withdraw it, because she saw his eyes flare with a kind of unholy joy.  
  
"You have not forgotten, then, Miss Granger?" She turned to the door, refusing to answer the silky question.  
  
"Where am I to sleep?"  
  
"Your old room is ready- as it was."  
  
Startled, she turned back, staring into his shuttered face.  
  
"As it was? After almost seven years? Minerva told me when I last spoke to her that it had been turned into an extra classroom."  
  
He nodded absently and turned away, beginning to leaf through the papers on his desk.  
  
"She had it changed. I was away at the time. I had it returned to its original state when I returned."  
  
"Why?" She found her heart fluttering in her throat, a flicker of feeling stirring, and she silenced it at once.  
  
"Why? I don't like change, as you very well know. I'll have your trunk brought to your room," he finished, coolly dismissing her.  
  
She was glad to go- the dark office intimidated her, reminding her of the number of times she had stood there as a trembling girl, while Snape sat behind the desk, berating her. Let him try it now!  
  
She walked along the close, narrow passage that led to her own room, remembering each door, each portrait, every small flickering torch that lit the dark corridors 24/7. The dungeons had been built in the manner of the old castles, rambling haphazardly underground, and Hermione saw them now with truly adult eyes.  
  
Almost opposite her room, the long door of a small, dark storage closet caught her eye, and her heart thumped as she recognized it. Crowded, dark, and confining it had terrified her in the years she had worked here.  
  
Hermione walked towards it and opened the door, facing her ghosts with tight lips, and then stopping in astonishment. It was painted white inside now, and the potions ingredients assembled on the many shelves were labeled and neatly organized. A torch burst into flame automatically as the door opened, and her ghosts vanished as if they had never been. If Snape did not like change, he had certainly made an exception here, had wiped out a part of her past that still haunted her mind, a day when Snape had made it clear that he would one day rule Hogwarts, a day when he had firmly taken Hermione under his protection.  
  
She walked in a kind of daze to her room, her mind only vaguely noting that it truly was as it had been. Even her small treasures had been brought back from the storeroom and replaced exactly in their original positions. Ashie! Hermione smiled, fingering the small objects that belonged to her past. Ashie, an unusually intelligent and articulate house-elf, had always been fond of her. Hermione wandered to the bookshelf and gazed at the huge tomes, but her mind was still outside the room, seeing the past and her trial by terror.  
  
It had been a few weeks after coming to Hogwarts to help Snape that Hermione had been left alone in the dungeons to complete a batch of Veritaserum, while Snape went to Hogsmeade to stock up on ingredients. Hermione had just entered the storage closet when Peeves had slammed the door shut behind her and locked it. She had been trapped in the closet.  
  
At first, as Hermione had realized she was trapped, leaving her in darkness, she had remained defiant, standing against the wall, waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness, trying not to hear Peeves' cackling as he had zoomed away. But the blackness was total, confining and suffocating, and she had begun to cry, softly at first, but then with deep shuddering sobs that threatened to choke her. She had felt for the door and hammered on it in growing panic, knowing that the dungeons were deserted and no one could hear her.  
  
She began to scream, falling on her knees by the door, surrounded by darkness and a slowly creeping silence that only her cries of terror kept at bay, but no one had come.  
  
Then Snape had returned. Hermione hadn't heard the sound of his boots striding along the passage, had heard nothing of his savage voice. Only the feel of his arms as he lifted her, tear-drenched and dirty-faced, to hold her against his chest, had awoken her to the fact that she was free.  
  
He had stormed all the way to the Headmaster's office, his pitiful burden cradled against his chest, murderous rage in his dark eyes, and he had burst in upon Dumbledore and Minerva as they had sat taking tea.  
  
What Snape said then, Hermione never knew, for she was too hysterical to follow his savage speed, but Minerva had paled at his obvious wrath, and even Dumbledore had fallen silent before such rage. Following that incident, Dumbledore had proceeded to expel Peeves from the castle, never to return again.  
  
Grim-faced, Snape had taken Hermione outside, where they walked around and around on the grounds for a long while. Gradually, her shuddering had stopped, as the gentle breeze blew through her hair and caressed her face, the sun warming her fear-chilled skin.  
  
Finally they came to a stop at the edge of the lake.  
  
"You are free, little one," Snape had told her quietly, "free on the grounds, under the sky, the wind in your hair."  
  
"Why did you leave me so long?"  
  
She had turned her head and timidly touched him as he looked down at her tear-stained face.  
  
"I was still in Hogsmeade. Ashie ran all the way there to get me. It will not happen again."  
  
Gently he had removed her hand, looking for a moment at her thin, pale fingers, and then he had turned for the castle, silent and stern, but a haven of comfort and protection. Not that it had made her very much more happy, only perhaps a little more secure, for he had continued in the same manner as before, cold and aloof, ignoring her, speaking to her only to give her potions instructions, and she had no doubts whatsoever that she was not welcome in his dungeons.  
  
***  
  
Please R/R as usual! 


	6. Timely Reminder

A/N: I'm leaving tomorrow on holiday again, this time for two weeks. So don't expect the next chapter until at least the 25th. Sorry!  
  
***  
  
Ashie brought Hermione's trunk into her room and greeted her with her clever face wreathed in smiles. Hermione was not surprised to find that Snape had handed the trunk over to a house-elf- he would not wish to see more of her than was necessary. She quickly hung up her clothes and put fresh robes on the bed, ready to change and then attend to her afternoon classes.  
  
She was surprised, therefore, to hear a sharp knock on the door and find Snape outside as she opened it.  
  
"You have everything that you need?" He stood looking down at her with eyes that were oddly intent, and for a second she simply looked back, not answering. "It is strange to find you once again in the school," he added quietly. "It is something that we will both have to get used to."  
  
"I'll only be here for a little while," she said tightly, turning away and walking into her room. "I'm quite sure that with Carmen out of the way you with more time to look for a permanent replacement, my job here will soon be over. In any case," she added, "I can't take indefinite leave. My leave is open-ended only because I." She suddenly pulled up short. Her relationship with Harry had nothing to do with Severus Snape.  
  
"Only because you are on very close terms with our dear Mr. Potter," he finished for her, leaning against the door and apparently settling in for a good while.  
  
"How do you know anything about me?" she asked sharply, her face coloring at the smile of amusement on his pale face.  
  
"You have corresponded with Minerva quite often during the years you've been away," he reminded her. "Certainly she was always bragging about how well you were doing. I didn't particularly like Minerva, but I did hold conversations with her in the normal course of a day. She was very proud of your success and never failed to talk of your work at great length."  
  
"I'm sorry," she rejoined tartly. "You must have been unspeakably bored."  
  
"Not at all," he countered easily. "It is only natural that I should be interested in the welfare of my ex-assistant, surely? Haven't I always been interested in your welfare?"  
  
"Only in a very vague way," she said, shooting him a bitter glance. "Only when you had the chance to criticize me and take me to task," she added unfairly.  
  
"You were somewhat of a trial," he murmured, his eyes moving over her with a curious intensity. "I feel that perhaps you will still be a trial." He turned to leave and then glanced at her over his shoulder. "You left the door open when you went to explore your.closet. I have closed it. Does that come under the heading of criticism?"  
  
Hermione stared at the blank face of her bedroom door as he closed it. He had given her a timely reminder of the way he had cared for her, and she felt suddenly distraught. She showered and dressed angrily, fighting down the feelings of guilt. He had protected her in his aloof and half-amused way. So what? She had been a child and his domination over her had been partly to prove to Dumbledore that he was capable of handling things. He had never been kind to her. Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. Yes, he had. Honesty made her admit it. In his own way, he had been more than kind- there had been a sort of love between the clever, sarcastic, quick- thinking man and the lonely child she had been. But what did she owe him? Nothing! He had finally wiped out the intervening years with his callous rejection of her, and had it not been for her relationship with Minerva, she would have completely lost touch with her magical childhood.  
  
When Hermione had first decided to turn her back on the wizarding world and move to Muggle America with Harry, Minerva had been furious. Even now, Hermione was not sure what had finally changed her stubborn old teacher's mind. Out of the blue, three years after Hermione's desertion, Minerva had written to her, via Muggle Post, no less, as if nothing had ever passed between them. Perhaps Minerva was feeling the lack of intelligent people to converse with, seeing as how Dumbledore had died in the war and Snape was a recluse, and all the other teachers were definitely not on the same plane of thinking as Minerva McGonagall.  
  
Hermione had not really cared. It was not in her to hold a grudge. Her job was satisfying, her life exciting, and she had welcomed her correspondence with Minerva with a great deal of happiness, glad that Minerva had been able to see things from Hermione's point of view at last. Her love and respect for Minerva had never faded, and she had been able to show her how much she cared, her happiness rubbing off on her mentor until they were back to the way they had always been.  
  
Now, she had nothing but the memories, but at least they were HAPPY ones, going some way to ease the burden of her stay here and the bad memories that were rooted in these dungeons. Clearly, Snape had never wanted to see her again, and although he had called her back so imperiously, she was not deceived. He wanted help, temporary help, until he could find himself a permanent replacement.  
  
Hermione dressed and headed off to her first afternoon class, determined that in the short time she was here, the students would actually LEARN something about Potions-making. She was secretly determined as well that now that she was back under Snape's influence, she would not let herself feel for him what she had felt years before.  
  
***  
  
A/N: I know, I know! This chapter is very, very short. It's all I had time for, what with getting ready to leave and everything. But I promise when I come back, I'll have a nice long chapter ready! 


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